Do Something Right REDUX
by lady of the wild things
Summary: Viviana Kane came to Gotham for business of the criminal kind. Robin was determined to stop her. Beware of retcon and future crossovers. HIATUS
1. Author's Note

**Author's Note**

So here's the thing, plain and simple: I did not like the way things were going with the storyline and so I decided to take it down and redo the entire thing.

I apologize to my readers who might have liked the original story, but I'd had the entire story mapped out and ran into an unexpected dead end while it was still in the beginning stages. I could explain to you about how I wasn't satisfied with the protagonist's development/plotline/whatever, but I'm just going to skip that and let you know a little bit of what to expect from the redux version.

So this is a reboot of _Do Something Right_ and the protagonist is still pretty much the same, with some changes. If you decide to keep reading, you'll find out about those starting with the first chapter.

I've mentioned before that there will be future crossovers and some retcon. One of the major cases of retcon will be that I've made Timothy Drake/Robin from the _Batman: The Animated Series/The New Batman Adventures_ and Robin from _Teen Titans_ the same person. My reasoning behind this is that the Robin in the cartoon _Teen Titans_ had more similarities to Tim Drake weapon/costume-wise and in one crossover episode of _Static Shock_, Batman mentions that Robin (Tim Drake) was away with the Titans. I know that Tim in the comic books had an entirely different set of teammates during his time as the Titans' leader, but it just happens to match up with the direction this story is going to take. Also for the continuing DCAU theme, Kid Flash from _Teen Titans_ will be Bart Allen instead of Wally West who is already the Flash in _Justice League_. Also, Tim's retirement from the mask in _Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker _never happens here.

If any of these changes and/or the retcon offends you, I understand and all you have to do is stop reading. If you decide to stick around, constructive criticism and reviews are greatly appreciated.

Thanks for reading.


	2. Ch01

**01**

"Next on GBC News: The priceless _Lady of Flame_ statue was stolen last night from the Ancient Egypt exhibit at the Gotham City Museum. The GCPD is currently conducting an investigation to catch the perpetrator, but there are no leads at this time. Could this be the work of Catwoman? Follow up-to-date coverage of the case on our official website at…"

It was a quiet morning at Wayne manor. The only noise in the house came from the television set in the kitchen where Timothy Drake sat crunching on cereal. A dossier from Commissioner Gordon lay open on the countertop before him. It contained a 'detailed' account of the theft that had taken place the previous night, but there wasn't much information other than a general time frame and a severe absence of evidence. Which could only mean that this had to be the work of a professional. A good one.

There was one item of interest, however, that the media hadn't been informed about—a calling card. An ornate 'V' was printed in purple and outlined in gold on one side of the card's glossy black surface.

And, of course, there were no prints.

It vaguely occurred to Tim that jumping onboard a case investigation was probably not the normal thing to do for a seventeen year old who was visiting home for the first time in nearly a year. Then again, Tim wasn't exactly a normal teenager.

He was still mulling over the details of the case an hour later when an elderly man in perpetually formal attire walked into the kitchen with a huge paper bag full of groceries.

"Need some help there, Alfred?" Tim said, pushing his chair back.

"I'm feeling quite capable, Master Timothy," Alfred replied, setting the groceries down by the pantry. "It appears as though you are busy with more pressing issues. Brought your work home with you, I presume?"

Tim glanced at the dossier before shaking his head. "Nah, that's one of Bruce's. Found it downstairs, this morning."

By downstairs, he meant the Batcave—the secret headquarters of Batman—of which he had also been a frequent occupant at an earlier point in his life. It had been a while since his last visit, but no length of time would ever be able to eradicate his memories of working side by side with Gotham's dark knight.

"In any case, I'm sure you recall my rule about keeping all work-related items out of the kitchen?" said Alfred.

"Sorry," Tim mumbled around a mouthful of now soggy chocolate cereal. "But I just don't get it."

"Get what, Master Timothy?" Alfred unloaded jar after jar of what appeared to be marinara sauce from the paper grocery bag.

"This case. There were loads more of valuable objects in the museum, so why did he decide to steal this one?"

"Perhaps it really was Catwoman," Alfred suggested.

Tim shook his head. "No, it's definitely not her this time."

The butler began stacking the jars neatly. "How can you be so sure?" he inquired.

"Well, the calling card's a dead giveaway," Tim answered, holding up the small black card. "In fact, it's the only giveaway. Criminals are nothing if not consistent and for all her spontaneity this isn't Catwoman's style."

"That certainly is new," Alfred commented.

"No kidding. The BC's running a scan through federal case files right now. If we get a positive match for the calling card we might have something more to go on than a missing statue."

"You don't sound very optimistic."

"I don't know about this one, Alfred," Tim said grimly. "This guy's good. Real good. You might say the calling card bit is an unusual show of weakness on his part."

"Perhaps the 'V' stands for Vanity," Alfred remarked. Tim smiled at that.

"Yeah, mayb—uh, Alfred…what're you doing?" The teenager finally took notice of what appeared to be rather tall pyramid of pasta sauce that was being constructed on the countertop.

"I have been appointed supervisor of catering for the upcoming masquerade," Alfred explained, delicately setting down the last jar at the top of the pyramid.

"Oh," Tim said; then, "Masquerade?"

"That's right," a third voice confirmed.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and handsome features entered the kitchen at that moment. Bruce Wayne, world famous billionaire and Tim's legal guardian. To a select few he was also known as Batman, the world's greatest detective and Gotham's resident vigilante.

"And you're invited." He flicked something white and square in Tim's direction.

Tim snatched the card out of the air and glanced down at it. "_Wayne Enterprises cordially invites you to attend a charity masquerade on the 31__st__ of October_," he read.

"Welcome back," Bruce said.

Tim nodded. "Thanks."

Several uncomfortable seconds ticked by, emphasized by the bustle of Alfred organizing the rest of the groceries.

"I see you've already updated yourself with the current events," Bruce finally said, indicating the file on the countertop.

Tim shrugged. "Hope you don't mind. It was right by the computer, so I thought I'd take a look at it."

"No," Bruce said. "Might as well make yourself useful while you're around. In fact, you can go on patrol again, starting tonight."

"Gee, thanks," Tim said dryly.

"You're welcome," the older man replied with a straight face. "I've got a meeting in half an hour, so we'll have to talk later about thecase. In the meantime, I'm sure Alfred will keep you busy." He abruptly exited the kitchen without another word.

"Nice talking to you, too," Tim said to the empty doorway.

"Master Bruce is very happy to have you home again," Alfred said cheerfully, from the inside pantry.

"He's got a hell of a way of showing it," Tim muttered. Then he remembered the last thing Bruce told him. "Hey Alfred, what did Bruce mean about keeping me busy?"

Alfred emerged from the pantry, dusting off his hands. "Well, Master Timothy, as supervisor of the catering for the charity masquerade, there is much to do. And as you earlier so graciously offered, I shall need a strong and youthful back to assist me in carrying the incoming shipment of ingredients."

"You don't mean we're going to have to go all the way down to the harbor?" Tim said in dismay. The effects of jet lag from the trip back to Gotham had only left his appetite unscathed and he'd been hoping to get in an hour, maybe two, for a nap before doing something productive. Like video games.

"That is indeed, exactly what I mean, Master Timothy."

"When will you need me?"

"Right now would be beneficial."

"Of course it is," Tim sighed, resigning himself to his fate of manual labor, and got to his feet. "But _I'm_ driving."

"We shall see about that, Master Timothy." Alfred walked out the door looking suspiciously spry for a man over the age of sixty.

Tim dashed after the butler, intent on claiming the driver's seat; all other thoughts flew from his mind like bats from a belfry. The case file lay open on the dining table by the bowl of chocolaty sludge, forgotten for the moment.

/

Meanwhile in a luxury suite on the third floor of the Ritm Marlton, a business transaction was being discussed over the phone.

"The target has been acquired, as you have probably heard on the news by now."

"You're absolutely certain it's intact? I won't pay for a damaged statue."

"Yes, yes. I _assure_ you it's been safely tucked away for our meeting tonight. There's not a single scratch on your precious statue. Now about my payment…"

"See that it remains in precisely that condition and you will be paid in full."

"Consider it done."

She hung up the phone and tossed it into the wastebasket by the door. Housekeeping would come by at exactly one o'clock and dispose of the wastebasket's contents in the trash compactor. There would be no evidence that the phone conversation had ever happened, and that was exactly the way that she liked it.

At the age of seventeen she was an international thief with a list of clientele as long as _Beowulf_ and a success rate of one hundred percent. To Interpol she was known only as the mysterious thief V.

But to the rest of the world, _she_ was Viviana Kane, a young, rich socialite just stepping onto the social scene. She traveled under the perfect cover—party girl with money and a passport and plenty of time to kill. The worst the authorities ever expected from her breed were DUIs and the occasional coke deal, and Viviana's record was positively pristine in that respect.

And as for the media, they gobbled up the stories of her escapades like greedy little children at a candy shop. No one cared that she had no family background to speak of, or knew if she even went to school. All that mattered was that Viviana Kane was somehow getting into the most exclusive clubs and parties. That automatically ranked her as one of the elite. A little mystery was alluring if played in the right light, and it only meant there were plenty more stories to dig up. Luckily for her, no one had managed to dig quite deep enough to find anything that would expose her shadowed past.

"I don't see what's so special about you, but it looks like you're going to make me a few pretty pennies tonight," Viviana said to her latest prize.

It was a stone statuette carved in the likeness of a woman in royal Egyptian garb with the head of a lioness. Historians said that it was supposed to be an icon of Sekhmet, the ancient Egyptian warrior goddess. _Lady of Flame_, the title of the piece, was just one of her many names. Still, aside from its historical and monetary value, there was nothing particularly striking about the statue as far as aesthetics went. And yet here it was, standing on Viviana's vanity.

Next, her gaze went to the white invitation that lay on the vanity beside the statue. That one small card—and the addition of her name to the guest list—had cost Viviana half a grand in cash, but she was convinced it would pay for itself on the night of the masquerade. She was going to make sure of it.

Wayne Enterprises always hosted some form of charity dinner at least once a year, and this year, for the first time since the tragic deaths of Thomas and Martha Wayne, the event was to be held at Wayne Manor. And Viviana was lucky enough to arrive in Gotham just in time for the party.

The media would probably guess that the young socialite had squeezed her way into the guest list for attention (a number of camera crews would be present to take note of the glitterati) or perhaps as an early move to leave behind her party girl image and enter high society. They might even go out on a limb and declare her one of the rare philanthropists of her generation. Whichever way it turned out, it would be good for Viviana's cover.

But the real reason she went to the trouble to get her name on the guest list was far from altruistic. As previously mentioned, the masquerade was going to be hosted at Wayne Manor, and Viviana figured the place had to be loaded with valuables. The masquerade—which would be hosted outside in the gardens—would provide the perfect distraction for Viviana to slip away unnoticed and have herself a private shopping spree in the multibillionaire's mansion.

Of course, she would have to make preparations before the masquerade. The biggest mistake for a thief would be to enter a building blindly—that is, without knowing what their target is or where it would be located. Viviana would have to break into the manor and reconnoiter the premises (more importantly, the goods) beforehand. As of now she had a week and four days.

"I need to get on that," she murmured to herself.

She would also have to go shopping for an appropriate dress and accessories, which she would do in the luxury of broad daylight. What would she even wear?

The thought made Viviana glance at the mirror. She frowned at her reflection in confusion, taking in her attire: shorts and a tank top, before remembering that she had been about to go for a run when she'd made the call to her client.

She grabbed her keys and iPod and froze in the doorway at a sudden noise that sounded a lot like little claws clicking against tiles. Rats in a five star hotel? Suddenly she wasn't so sure she liked Gotham so much.

_The sooner this job is over the better_, she thought as she made her way down Broome Street.

/

It doesn't matter if you're fast enough to rival an Olympic level athlete when you're not the one holding the car keys. Tim realized this about ten seconds after beating Alfred to the garage where the Waynes kept their extensive collection of valuable automobiles. Since he wasn't about to wrestle the elderly butler for the keys to the pickup, he decided he might as well get comfortable riding shotgun for the drive down to Gotham Docks.

About an hour later, he found himself too exhausted from the labor of carrying heavy crates of food and loading them onto the truck, to even think about driving. He dreaded the thought of having to unload the crates when they returned to Wayne Manor.

"Wake me up when we get there, okay Alfred?" he said, slumping into the passenger seat.

"Certainly, Master Timothy," Alfred replied.

Tim wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when he woke up Alfred was nowhere to be seen and the truck was parked beside a small herbal shop. Judging by the Chinese lettering on the shop's sign and the others surrounding the area, he guessed that they were somewhere in Chinatown.

He got out of the truck and stood on the corner taking a deep breath and grimacing at the soreness in his muscles. He raised his arms above his head and was in mid-stretch when something small and fast crashed into him from the side, sending both Tim and his assailant tumbling to the hard pavement.

/

On the other side of Gotham, Selina Kyle was enjoying a 1949 Chabot Vintage out on her balcony in the warm afternoon sun. Her closest feline companion Isis was curled up in her lap. It was a little early to be drinking, but time was one of many things of little relevance to Selina's current lifestyle.

When the phone rang from inside the apartment she considered letting it go straight to voicemail, but eventually scooped up a protesting Isis and headed inside, wineglass still in one hand. As she checked the caller ID, Isis leaped down and went back out to the sunny balcony. The number was blocked, but she answered it anyway.

"Have you seen the news?"

A smile curved onto Selina's lips at the familiar voice, but she added a layer of cool nonchalance as she replied. "I'm a little busy, Bats. Can't this wait until, say…never?"

"Answer the question, Selina."

"It wasn't me," Selina said. "And you can tell that to those witless idiots from the GCPD."

"A partner then. You've worked with others before."

"I don't know who stole your statue. If anything, I'm more than a little annoyed."

"As if one cat burglar didn't cause enough grief," Batman agreed gravely.

"You know you love the chase as much as I do," Selina purred.

"Hardly." But despite the brusque denial Selina could have sworn she heard the barest traces of amusement in Batman's voice.

"Well, if and when you catch this thief of yours, tell them I expect to be generously compensated for their libelous attacks against my good reputation. Preferably in cash."

"Be good, Selina."

"You know I'm _always _good."

_Click_.

/

"What the hell!"

Viviana scrambled to her feet after awkwardly extricating herself from the limbs of the person she had barreled into. Said person grunted in pain as Viviana tripped over his legs in her attempt to regain balance. Having recovered from the initial disgrace of the situation, she was now glaring at the boy who was picking himself off the cement.

The boy looked to be about her age and was looking down at his hand with a bewildered expression on his face. Viviana glanced at his hand curiously. Then shrieked.

"Give that back!" She darted forward and snatched the diamond bracelet out of the boy's hand, practically clawing his skin off in the process.

Clutching tightly to her reclaimed property, she scowled suspiciously at the boy—and was surprised to find that he was looking back at her with an expression full of disapproval.

"Nice diamonds," he said darkly. "Who'd you steal them from?"

"Your mom," Viviana snapped. "I bought them, genius. Haven't you ever seen a rich person before?"

It was true. She had paid for the bracelet with her own money—even if most of it had come from her more or less illegal ventures. But that was beside the point.

The boy opened his mouth, presumably to apologize, but Viviana wasn't about to let him get a word in edgewise.

"I mean, how in the world do you get off being deluded enough to think that I would stoop to stealing a bracelet? Me! The very thought. You're probably just some working class errand boy working three jobs to put food on the table for your thirteen year old baby momma. And you have the nerve to loiter about on the corner of the sidewalk obstructing pedestrian traffic and acting all _righteous_ like you're—I don't know—freaking _Batman_ or something! Well, excuse me, but you're a little too short and scrawny to fit the job description. And people die every day, but that doesn't make you the king of everything, so there! That's final. I'm putting my foot down."

And she did put her foot down. On his foot. Hard.

"_Ow!_ What was that for?"

"_That_," Viviana emphasized the word by poking the boy in the chest, "Was for being an idiot."

The boy stared at her like a kicked puppy. Shocked, wounded, and more than a little indignant. It was actually pretty funny.

She cleared her throat. "Well, I think you've learned your lesson," she said. "Have a nice life."

Then without another word, she turned around and disappeared around the same corner she had turned just minutes ago.

Tim gaped after the girl, looking like he'd been frozen to the spot by a Freeze gun, minus the layer of ice. He felt like he had just encountered one of the weirdest and most aggressive-borderline-violent girls on the face of the planet. And for a guy who threw on a costume every day to fight crime that was really saying something.

He still wasn't sure if she'd been telling the truth about the diamond bracelet but he wasn't about to chase after her to find out. After all, he had 'learned [his] lesson.' She had looked a little suspicious, but then again he probably didn't look like the protégé of the illustrious Bruce Wayne to anyone who might have happened to walk by at that moment either.

A rusty chiming sound jerked Tim out of his musings over the mysterious 'rich girl' as Alfred exited the herbal shop.

"Please tell me we're not having flambéed amphibian for dinner," Tim said, gesturing at the assortment of dried dead animals and herbs that were on display in the shop's window.

"The deer kidney is a far superior source of nutrition. I would assume you would have recognized its distinct aroma after five years of my cooking."

Tim wrinkled his nose at the sinister-looking plastic bag in Alfred's hand. "Ha. Good one. Please tell me you're joking."

"I never joke, Master Timothy."

/

Viviana muttered insulting things under her breath as she jogged back to the hotel. How could anyone mistake her for a common thief? She ignored the small stab of guilt at the fact that she was in fact a thief; still, she was anything but common. And it was completely beneath her to stoop to something as petty as stealing jewelry off someone's wrist, though it had happened once, many years ago.

She came to a stop at a stop light, caught her reflection in the window of a barber shop, and did a double take.

The girl in the window had wildly unkempt hair that had shaken loose of the sad remains of a ponytail. Her designer sportswear bore grimy streaks from her fall and her bare arms and legs were flecked with dirt. The diamond bracelet looked alien on her wrist as it sparkled in the bright sunlight. That being the case, she probably did look like a common pickpocket to the boy from Chinatown.

It was mortifying. _TMZ_ would have a field day if one of their lackeys spotted her and snapped a picture. If they could even recognize her.

Suddenly it was as if the light couldn't change fast enough. When the signal finally flashed 'WALK', she set off for the hotel at breakneck speed.

/

To the thief V, Gotham's night sky looked like the color of blood. Whether it was from pollution or some natural phenomenon the clouds were always a deep red hue, as if they were dyed to look that way. She also thought the color set the perfect atmosphere for the criminal exploits that took place in the East End at night.

Perched atop a tower of wooden crates, she waited in the shadows for her client to arrive. And arrive he did…with a posse of men and women dressed like cats on motorcycles. She thought they looked positively ridiculous, but decided it would probably be wise not to comment. The costumes _were_ amusing; the metal claws and firearms were anything but.

A man stepped out of a black limousine with tinted windows and stepped into the dim lamplight. She recognized him as Thomas Blake, the leader of a cult that worshipped cats. Her client.

Blake greeted her cordially. "Miss V. It is a pleasure doing business with you."

She nodded briskly. "Likewise. Now I believe some payment is in order?"

Blake motioned to one of the cat people who produced a suitcase. The man opened the case revealing its contents.

Hello Ben.

"Twenty thousand American dollars in cash. This upholds my end of the bargain, does it not?"

V shrugged noncommittally. "It'll do." She leapt off the crates, holding the _Lady of Flame_ in one hand and landed neatly in front of the man with the suitcase. She snapped the lid shut and took it from him, simultaneously handing over the statue.

The cat man strode back to Blake, kneeling as he offered the _Lady of Flame _to his leader. V rolled her eyes discreetly at the display; some cat cult…more like lemmings.

"What's so special about that statue anyway?" she said curiously.

Blake glanced at her with a condescending smile, as if she were one of his fawning, sycophantic minions.

"Well you see, Miss V, this is no ordinary statue. Legend tells of an ancient Egyptian queen who possessed inhuman powers. The people worshipped her as an incarnation of Sekhmet the lion-headed goddess, and she led them into battle against enemy nations, conquering entire kingdoms. The popular belief is that she was betrayed and murdered by one of her own subjects, but not before she had sealed her memories and powers within the statue of a cat. It was buried in her tomb until archaeologists uncovered it on an expedition and since then it has been moved from museum to museum as part of a showcase exhibit. It had been part of the Gotham City Museum's collection for the past month…"

"…Until I stole it," V finished the sentence. "You honestly believe in that myth?"

Blake looked annoyed at the interruption, but quickly recovered his creepy smile. Nothing could dampen his spirits tonight. "It isn't a myth, Miss V. And with the _Lady of Flame_ now in my possession, I will acquire its powers and lead my followers in a holy crusade against Gotham. The citizens of this city will come to see the glory of the Cat and fall to their knees in worship. All will recognize the Cult of the Cat!" A dreamy look filled his eyes by the end of his monologue.

"Are you telling me your plan is to take over the entire city?" V said, her voice full of disbelief.

This guy was a total whack job. Correction, a whack job with a fairy tale fetish. Maybe she should have charged more.

Said whack job blinked at the thief as if he'd forgotten she was still there.

"There is no need for you to worry, Miss V. You have done a great service to me and my people. You are free to go wherever you wish," he spoke imperiously, as if he were doing her a great favor.

"How generous of you."

Blake nodded graciously, missing the thief's sarcastic tone. "Well, as I have previously stated, it has been a pleasure doing business with you, Miss V." With that, the man and his minions turned to leave the alley.

V stood still, her gaze following the retreating cat people and their deranged leader. She could skip town now and leave the psycho with his toy rock; after all she'd been paid in full. But if there was a slim chance that the statue was what Blake claimed it to be—the world was not without a few significant events that couldn't be explained with pure science and logic—that would mean she had just handed over a potentially devastating weapon to a madman who would use it on innocent people in a city she didn't entirely dislike. And also, wartime did not make for the good old, lawless business that thieves like her made bank from.

Her grip on the suitcase handle tightened until her knuckles turned white beneath the black leather. Then before she could change her mind, she hurled the suitcase at the henchman that was opening the limousine door for Blake, knocking him into the row of cat people behind him like dominos.

Taking advantage of the general shock, she darted forward and swept Blake's legs out from under him as she slid to a stop. The _Lady of Flame_ flew from his grasp and V caught it neatly in her right hand.

"Sorry, but I really can't let you do that."

She scanned the alleyway for a quick means of escape, but the cat people had regrouped in a semicircle cutting her off from the street; the limousine was at her back. Then they drew their guns and she froze.

Shit, shit, _shit._

"Shoot her!" Blake howled.

Statue grasped securely in one hand, V flipped back onto the roof of the limousine and then vaulted up to the wooden crates lining the alleyway in an attempt to gain enough altitude to jump up to the roof and escape. The sudden gunfire from the cat people shook her focus as she landed, and she realized too late that she had veered a couple inches to the left. Her foot slipped off to the side and both she and the wooden crates fell through the air directly into the barrage of bullets.

V braced herself for impact, because whether the ground or the bullets hit her first, she was definitely a goner.

At that moment a blinding light flashed throughout the alleyway and burst into a roar of unearthly violet flames. Thomas Blake and his cat people fell back, hoping to shield themselves from the blast. But the fire receded just as quickly as it had appeared, and when the smoke cleared, both V and the _Lady of Flame_ had vanished.

A red dot blinked from the rooftop, unseen as it recorded everything that had just occurred in the alley below.

/

**Author's Note:** So…first chapter. Again. Opinions?


	3. Ch02

**02**

Bruce was at the central computer when Tim entered the Batcave. The artificial glow from the large monitor illuminated the look of deep concentration on his features.

"Alfred said you had something to show me," Tim said, descending the steep staircase.

"I want you to see this," Bruce waved Tim over to the computer.

"It's footage from one of the rooftop cameras I planted in the East End a year ago. A contact informed me about a handoff that was scheduled to take place last night between Thomas Blake and a business partner. He thought it may have something to do with the stolen _Lady of Flame_."

Tim's brow wrinkled slightly as he tried to recollect what he knew about the man attached to the name. "The cat guy, right? So who's the business partner supposed to be?"

"Keep watching."

Tim silently watched the scene unfolding onscreen before him as Thomas Blake stepped out of his limousine.

Blake's amplified voice echoed throughout the cave. "Miss V. It is a pleasure doing business with you."

"Likewise."

Tim searched the screen for the owner of the new voice before his eyes settled upon a small figure he hadn't noticed before. The figure on the screen was perched atop a pile of wooden crates; she was obscured by the shadows cast over the dimly lit alleyway.

Blake produced a suitcase full of cash and 'Miss V' finally left her perch and stepped into the light. Tim was surprised to note that the blonde thief looked no older than he was, even with a black domino mask disguising her features.

"I don't get it," Tim turned to Bruce. "Why didn't you go stop the handoff?"

"Turns out I didn't have to." The older man offered no further reply, leaving Tim with no alternative but to keep watching.

Onscreen V handed over the _Lady of Flame_ in exchange for the suitcase. The recording continued as Thomas Blake droned on about his plan to take over Gotham. Finally Blake turned to go back to the limousine, but V made no move to slip away from the scene.

Then without warning, she did the one thing Tim never would have expected her to do—she hurled the briefcase at one of the cat people before moving forward at astonishing speed, knocking Blake to the ground with a sweeping kick as she snatched the _Lady of Flame_ out of the air.

Tim watched with a heavy sense of helplessness as the cat people opened fire on the thief. V leaped onto the wooden crates, and for a second Tim thought she would escape successfully, but in the next instant both she and the crates fell directly into the range of fire.

A white flash lit up the entire screen at that moment and burst into purple flames before gradually fading altogether. An angry and bewildered Thomas Blake stood cursing in the alley, his minions scattered and dazed by the unexpected phenomenon.

And as for V…she was gone.

Tim looked to Bruce for an explanation. "What just happened?"

"Rewind video feed," Bruce commanded. "Stop. Play at 0.5 second intervals."

The footage started to play back in slow motion, starting from the moment where V fell from the crates.

"Freeze frame. Over there, look."

Tim looked up at the screen to where Bruce was pointing. It took a moment for him to see what Bruce was indicating—in the thief's right hand the _Lady of Flame_ was glowing nanoseconds prior to the appearance of the mysterious flames that had spirited her away.

/

Warm afternoon sunlight streamed through the curtains of the luxury suite windows, illuminating a small body curled up on the bed in the dark room. Viviana woke up with a splitting headache that was not unlike a hangover, and opened her eyes to find herself staring into the stony eyes of a lioness.

"Ahh!" _Crash._

Viviana groaned from the carpet as she struggled to gain her bearings. She peered, wide-eyed, back over the bed she had rolled off of, at the ancient statue. What was it doing here? Hadn't she—Viviana was suddenly struck with distorted images of the previous night.

She remembered how she'd screwed up the deal in a crazy endeavor to save Gotham from a cult leader and his old rock. How she'd been shot at by cat people in a situation with no possible chance of escape. How she was now staring at that very same rock—herself being alive and well in the safety of her hotel room—she had no freaking clue. And something smelled like it was burning.

Just before the stream of memories winked out, Viviana could have sworn she'd seen the statue glowing in her hand, and then a bright light and weird purple fire. But that was beyond ridiculous.

'Hallucinations from a near death encounter,' Viviana told herself.

"But how the hell did I get out alive?" she asked aloud, and glanced at the statue on her pillow.

She got up and sat on the edge of the bed, staring curiously at the statue that had brought her so much more trouble than she had gone through to steal it. After a couple moments of deep thought that yielded absolutely nothing, she finally reached out to pick up the statue. Her fingers had barely touched the cold stone when _FLASH!_

"_Fire!" she shouted in a tongue as ancient as the sands of time._

_At her command, over a thousand arrows shot up into the clear blue sky, cutting through the air towards the vast army approaching them. She raised her arms into the air as the volley passed overhead and instantly each arrow was ablaze in a torrent of violet fire that descended upon the enemy._

_She could see the faces of the foreign invaders, their features, painted red, lit up in a combination of fear and wonder. Their astonishment quickly broke into shouts of alarm as the first of the flaming arrows hit their mark._

_She drew her sword from its golden scabbard as the enemy tried desperately to put out the purple flames. It was a futile attempt, as this was no ordinary fire. The sword sliced through the air in a wide arc, flashing in the hot desert sun._

"_Charge!"_

_All around her, her army charged forth, weapons drawn. They were flashes of iron and deep purple linen and bronze skin. Soldiers on foot sprinted alongside generals in chariots drawn by strong Arab horses. She stood tall in her war chariot, hair whipping in the wind like a flag of war._

_She uttered a feral cry and flung herself into a battle whose outcome had already been decided the moment the invaders stepped foot across the border._

_It didn't matter how strong or who the enemy was, she would protect the people of this land._

_Her people._

_FLASH! _Viviana gasped and dropped the statue, which fell back upon the sheets with a muffled thump. She jumped off the bed and retreated backward until her back hit the opposite wall, and it was only then that she realized that she was shaking.

She fixed her pale eyes upon the silent _Lady of Flame._

"_What the hell are you?_"

/

"Tell me the truth, Jade. Have I gone mad?"

The girl on the other end sighed. "Yes, Vi, of course you have. But that's kind of old news."

"Ugh, I just don't understand what happened," Viviana said, sinking lower into the bubbling hot water in the huge Jacuzzi tub.

"Listen, Vi," Jade's voice said from the cell phone lying near the edge of the tub. "You had a bad night full of bad people with bad guns. It's obviously taken a toll on your state of mind."

"I found burn marks on my catsuit. Blake's men had guns but they definitely weren't carrying flamethrowers. Something's up. Something weird."

"You got out alive. Isn't that what matters?"

"That's just the thing," Viviana murmured. "I shouldn't be alive."

She then noticed the scuffling noises and shouts carrying over the speaker phone.

"Are you in the middle of a job?" she said, quickly changing the subject.

"Yup." More shouting and sounds crunching bones.

"Ooh, sounds like fun," Viviana sighed wistfully. She flipped over in the water so her elbows were propped up on the edge of the tub, her chin resting upon interlocked fingers.

"You could join me, you know," Jade said finally, sounding slightly out of breath. "It'd be just like old times."

Viviana smiled. "Yeah, I could. But I have a couple of things to take care of first."

"How about concentrating on taking care of yourself first?"

"I am taking care of myself," Viviana said.

"You're getting reckless," Jade warned. "Don't get the party girl cover mixed up with who you really are."

"And who am I really?" Viviana drawled.

"You're one of us. You're a criminal and a damn good one, as much as I hate to admit it."

"Oh Chess," Viviana teased. "I didn't know you cared."

"Whatever, loser."

Viviana laughed. "You love me because I'm your best friend," she singsonged.

"Fat ass."

"Catty bitch."

"_Dumb whore_."

"_Icy tramp_."

"I'm serious, Viviana," Jade said, her tone suddenly somber.

"You think I'm fat?"

"Just shut up for second, I'm trying to tell you something important and heartfelt!"

Viviana fell silent.

"Don't. Do. Anything. Stupid… _Helena._"

Viviana's jaw dropped. She leaped out of the water and grabbed the cell phone, not caring that her fingers were dripping with beads of water. "I told you not to call me that! And you know what, that new costume does make your ass look huge. Do you hear me? You—oh, you hung up on me. You hung up on me!"

She made a face at the phone and flung it across the room in frustration. Grabbing a large fluffy towel from the rack, she dried herself off before slipping into a silk robe.

The _Lady of Flame _had been moved to her vanity where it stood innocently, as if it were nothing more than an ordinary albeit expensive statue. It _was_ just an ordinary statue. Wasn't it?

"This is entirely your fault, you know," she snapped, not caring that she, a world class criminal wanted in five continents, was scolding a rock. _I really am going crazy._

She paced back and forth across the suite, trying to decide what to do with the statue when she remembered another detail of the previous night. That in her mission to retrieve the _Lady of Flame_ she had literally thrown away twenty thousand dollars. At a man dressed up like a cat.

"You've got to be—No…_Damn it!_"

/

An obscure, caped figure swung from rooftop to rooftop, surveying the streets below. Stopping at the edge of the building at the end of the block, he looked out over the cars below speeding past, and checked the hidden location of his mode of transportation before speaking over the commlink.

"No trouble on this end. Yet."

He was reporting to Bruce, who at that moment was tied up in an emergency business meeting via video conference, regarding some important deal overseas with a transnational tech firm. So tonight the Robin was flying solo.

Robin leaned against the brick edge of the building and took a moment to reflect on an earlier conversation in the Batcave.

"_You don't think the legend about the _Lady of Flame_ is true?"_

"_It's a vague possibility," Bruce conceded._

"_So V…she's not dead?" Tim glanced up at the thief's image on the computer screen._

_Bruce gave a slight shake of his head. "There's no way of knowing for sure."_

"_Then what are we supposed to do?" Tim asked impatiently. He was getting frustrated with the obvious lack of information surrounding the entire case._

"_Nothing." Bruce's voice rang finality. "If V is still alive and somewhere in Gotham, she'll turn up eventually."_

"_But what if she doesn't? What are we going to do about Blake? We can't just let him run around with delusions of turning Gotham into a cat empire."_

"_Without the _Lady of Flame _in his possession, Thomas Blake isn't our concern at the moment. As for V, if she doesn't turn up in Gotham within the month we'll have no choice but to declare it as a dead-end case."_

"_So we just wait?"_

"_We wait."_

Robin had been so sure that V was nothing more than a callous thief that he wasn't sure how he would go about restructuring his approach to the case now that he'd been presented with a more honorable facet of the criminal's character. If she really was dead then she had died in an attempt to save Gotham from a dangerous maniac. Did that make her a hero?

In a way it reminded him of another criminal he had once faced back in Jump City—who hadn't exactly done anything quite so selfless, but had made Robin question the shades of gray that he was beginning to notice in what had once been a world of black and white that clearly divided good and evil.

As he wondered how his mentor was able to see the line so clearly, the night sky lit up with the projection of a familiar symbol. The silhouette of a bat perforated the beam of light that shone from atop the Gotham Police Department Headquarters.

"Signal's up," Robin reported to Bruce before taking off.

Ten minutes later he was on the roof of the GCPD next to the giant Bat Signal. To his bewilderment, there was no one there to greet him—not even Bullock or Montoya. Sensing something was amiss, he turned on the spot, surveying the seemingly deserted rooftop.

"You don't look like the Batman."

The feminine voice came from the other side of the Bat Signal.

Robin stepped back a couple paces to readying himself for a fight if this was some kind of trap. "Who are you? Show yourself."

"Nope, definitely not Batman. You're the shorter one."

The speaker stepped around the signal and into Robin's view. He recognized the blond hair and leather clad figure from the video. "You're…"

"Guilty, I'm sure," the thief interjected smoothly. She then fixed Robin with a critical once over and shrugged. "And you're not at all what I was expecting, but I guess you'll have to do."

Robin felt strangely offended by the remark even as he asked, "What do you want with Batman?"

V tilted her head to the side and flashed a coy smile. "What does it matter? I have you to keep me company now."

"I would have thought you'd have other things to worry about. Like Thomas Blake, for instance." He watched as the girl's eyes narrowed behind her mask.

"How—," she started, then shook her head in exasperation. "Whatever. You really should mind your own business, Bird boy. Last time I checked, robins aren't nocturnal. You play with the night, it'll swallow you whole. So what's with the animal names, _Robin_? Is bestiality the latest trend in Gotham or something?"

Robin slowly reached for a Birdarang. "Last time _I _checked, curiosity killed the cat."

V frowned. "Then it's a good thing I'm not a cat person," she said lightly. "Hey."

"What?"

"Catch me if you can."

At that moment V disappeared—something she seemed to be in the habit of doing—off the side of the police building down into the narrow backstreet. It was a three story drop.

By the time Robin reached the edge of the roof, V was nowhere in sight. He wasted no time in formulating a quick strategy—one that involved a chase via R-Cycle. The second his feet hit the ground he headed for the dumpster, keys in hand, and found…nothing.

"I'm going to kill her."

He produced a device that was similar in appearance to a palmtop from his utility belt and punched in a code. A layout of Gotham appeared on the small screen and a red dot blipped on a route southward from the GCPD headquarters.

/

V zipped through Gotham's streets on the 'borrowed' R-Cycle. She knew she was breaking the speed limit by a good 30 mph, but the streets were practically empty at this hour and there wasn't a single patrol vehicle in sight.

A static crackle drew her attention to the radio transmitter on the dash. "Hey crazy lady, how about you stop the bike now and I'll hand you over to the GCPD in one piece?"

V couldn't help but smile at how pissed off her pursuer sounded. Cute.

"Hey babe, whatcha wearing?"

"I mean it. Pull. Over."

"Hmm…no. But play nice and maybe _I'll_ give you your pretty bird back in one piece."

"If I see one scratch on my bike, I swear I am going to kill you."

"Listen, I love it when you talk dirty, sweetheart, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut our little chat short. I'm a bit busy trying not to crash into a stop sign."

"Well maybe if you weren't going at ninety mi—" Robin's heated diatribe was cut off as V finally found the off switch.

"Sorry, hotshot," she muttered. "But this wild goose chase is far from over."

/

The R-Cycle's tracer eventually led Robin to Gotham Harbor. By that point he was prepared to throw down with the girl thief, if only he could take a moment to catch his breath first.

But true to the thief's word—another surprise—the R-Cycle was parked safe and sound by one of the large shipping containers that inhabited the area. The thief herself had pulled yet another disappearing act. As he drew closer to his precious bike he noticed something strange, lumpy, and wrapped in newspaper sitting on the driver's seat. There was a note delicately balanced upon the tip of the package.

_Not bad for a first date, hotshot. Thanks for the ride, here's a little present from me in return._

He turned the card over—it was decorated with a V identical to the calling card found at the museum. Judging by the thief's choice of words, Robin concluded that the package was most likely not a threat. Still, he was cautious as he unwrapped the thief's 'present.' When the newspaper was completely peeled away all he could do was gape in astonishment.

It was the _Lady of Flame_.

/

So, like I said, it's pretty similar to the original in a lot of ways—for now anyway. Thanks for reading.


	4. Ch03

A/N: So, I haven't updated in a while...a very long while. My apologies, I've just recently found the time to start writing again. Please R&R, thank you.

/

**03**

Viviana had done her good deed for the year. Her job, however, required an increasing number of bad deeds, and it was time to get back in the game.

One of her contacts at a high-end security company in Newark sent her the Wayne Manor blueprints from a routine security update in the last year. She reasoned it would be safe to assume that the blueprints were fairly up to date, in which case Wayne Manor was a built like a fortress.

Security cameras were stationed at every turn, motion detectors in every room, and electronic locks secured at least half the doors in the manor. That aside, the place was practically a labyrinth. Even without the thirty minute time limit on this window of opportunity, she would have no idea where the real valuables were locked away. In her experience, multibillionaires were just a tad paranoid when it came to their riches. If only she could get a little 'tour' of the manor before the charity dinner.

"Stupid plan is stupid," Viviana groaned, scattering the blueprints in one frustrated sweep of her arm.

_Miaow_.

Viviana started with a startled hiss and sprang into a defensive crouch on the edge of the bed. Her pale gaze zeroed in on the dresser.

A black felinely figure slunk into view and fixed narrowed yellow eyes upon the surprised girl thief. It miaowed at her a second time, as if to announce its presence.

Viviana relaxed by a few degrees, then grimaced. "First rats and now a stray cat? Forget the job; I could retire on the lawsuit alone."

The cat proceeded to leap onto the bed and casually begin washing a delicate paw with a pink sandpaper tongue. Viviana frowned and made shooing motions at the cat.

"No. Bad cat. Go away," she reproached the cat ineffectually. "Don't you have a dumpster to dive somewhere?"

The cat glanced up at her. It moved on to washing the other paw.

Viviana considered using force to remove the interloper from her suite, but then decided with a sigh that it would be a wasted effort. If the cat had found its way into the suite the first time, there wouldn't be much stopping it from sneaking in again. All her energy should be invested in the Wayne manor job.

"Well, since you're already here, maybe you could do something about my little rat problem," she suggested. The cat ignored her.

Viviana rolled her eyes. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that's a yes."

/

"Benefit of the doubt?" Tim scoffed, regarding the red-headed young man sitting across from him. "Roy, she's a thief. She stole the statue; it doesn't matter whether or not she gave it back."

Roy shrugged. "Man, all I'm saying is that maybe there's more to this 'V' character than you originally thought."

Tim said nothing, gazing pensively into the chocolatey depths of his milkshake. The usual bustle of the food court created a comfortable cushion of background noise around the quietly conversing boys. Upon Tim's return to Gotham, the boy who moonlighted as Speedy of the Titans East had hit him up for an update on life, which had recently taken a frustrating detour into the bizarre.

"Why would she return it?" he said finally, more to himself than anyone else. "Why not sell it off to the next, less maniacal bidder?"

Roy crunched on a potato chip in contemplation. "Maybe she figured it's more trouble than it's worth. Have you and Mister-tall-dark-and-ominous figured anything out about the statue yet? Like, if it's actually magical or whatever."

Tim shook his head. "We've got zilch on its origins. The archaeologists who unearthed it could barely date the dynasty themselves. We're not even sure if their approximation was accurate."

Roy whistled. "This is one seriously old rock."

"No kidding."

"You think V might know anything about it?"

"Probably not," Tim said. "Not that she's available for interrogation."

"Hmm," Roy said unhelpfully; his eyes were clearly focused elsewhere. "Hey, she's cute. What do you think are the chances she might be your thief?"

Tim looked over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the girl his idiot friend was talking about. She was standing no more than ten feet away, flipping through a magazine with her back to them, and all Tim could see was the glossy black hair that cascaded down her slender back. He rolled his eyes. "V's blonde, genius."

"Could be a wig," Roy said dreamily, eyes not budging an inch from the girl by the magazine vendor. "You'll never know until we've had a chance to interrogate her."

"_We_ are not interrogating anyone. This isn't even your case," Tim said.

"Maybe you could use some backup. In the off chance that something unexpected happens."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, V or not…that girl is staring daggers at you right now."

"What?"

"Now she's heading over here. Think fast, buddy—got any jilted raven-haired, blue-eyed ex-girlfriends?"

"_What?_"

Tim sensed a looming presence at his shoulder. As he turned, it spoke in a vaguely familiar female voice.

"You're just _everywhere_ lately, aren't you, Mister Drake?"

/

Viviana had temporarily given up on scheming and was now indulging herself on some much needed retail therapy. She had spent the last hour wandering around various shops and boutiques, purchasing whatever caught her fancy. By the time she ambled her way to the food court, her arms were weighed down by the myriad of shopping bags she had collected on her trek through the mall.

She was making her way back across the third floor to the escalators when a familiar face caught her eye. She stopped short and backtracked to the magazine and newspaper rack.

The cover of _Gotham Gazette_ sported the headline, "WAYNE PROTÉGÉ RETURNS TO GOTHAM" in big bold letters. The accompanying picture was a close up of the boy she'd crashed into in Chinatown just a couple of days ago.

Viviana gasped. "No _freaking_ way."

Her face heated at the memory of calling the heir to the Wayne fortune a working class nobody. No doubt he'd be at the top of the guest list for Wayne's charity ball. Masks or not, what if he were to recognize her? He could make her a laughingstock at the ball and she'd never be able to show her face in high society again!

Viviana smacked her forehead against the newspaper, too mortified to notice the strange looks the paper vendor was shooting her way. She quickly scanned through the story before tossing the newspaper back onto the rack, and turned away from the picture of the young man named Timothy Drake.

She gazed unhappily at the neon signs lining the food court and was contemplating suicide by fast food binge, when the devil appeared in her line of sight for the third time that week.

She blinked a couple of times to make sure she wasn't hallucinating from the staggering level of stress she had been forced to endure in the last fortnight. It was definitely him.

The current bane of her social existence was slurping on a chocolate milkshake and chatting with a tall, red-headed young man, oblivious to the threat he posed to her reputation.

Pig.

Viviana took a deep breath, glaring coldly at her unsuspecting target. She forced herself to put a damper on her more vicious impulses as she considered her options. She could leave now, before he noticed her, let alone recognize her, and take her chances at the charity masquerade. _Or_ she could confront him then and charm him with a roundabout apology while somehow managing not to lose face.

She knew it was too late for further deliberation when the redhead noticed her eyes upon them, and before she realized exactly what she was doing her feet were already in motion, bringing her closer with each step to the Wayne protégé.

Viviana effortlessly conjured a charming smile to her face and coyly tilted her head to one side. "You're just _everywhere_ lately, aren't you, Mister Drake?"

Timothy Drake looked at her with an apprehensive expression that almost immediately dissolved into bemusement.

"Can I help you, Miss…" he said uncertainly.

Viviana stared at him incredulously—didn't he recognize her? Was her face that forgettable? She was suddenly filled with the urge to stomp on his foot again, or slap that puzzled look off his stupid, handsome face.

"Kane. Viviana Kane," she said pleasantly. "We met a couple of days ago in Chinatown? You accused me of stealing diamonds and I stepped on your foot."

She observed patiently, ignoring the shocked choking noises coming from the redhead, as realization dawned on the boy's face; his expression became guarded in an instant.

"You're forgetting the part where you came out of nowhere and knocked me off my feet," he said, his demeanor decidedly less friendly than before.

"I seem to have that effect on most people," Viviana played innocent, flashing him another winning smile.

He wasn't biting. "Uh huh."

Viviana sighed and without asking permission, slipped into the booth next to the redhead. "Listen, I'm trying to make nice with you," she began.

"You can make nice with me anytime," the redhead muttered under his breath.

Viviana blinked. Timothy looked unconvinced. A cold gust of wind swept through the booth.

"_Anyway_," Viviana said, ignoring the hormonal redhead. "I'm sorry about jumping to unpleasant conclusions, but you have to admit you threw the first stone by accusing me of being a thief."

She waited for the dark-haired boy to give in, which he did sooner than expected.

"I guess you've got me there," Tim sighed, "I'm sorry, too, about jumping to conclusions. You crashed into me in a shady part of town."

Viviana frowned. "You're never going to let go of the part where I knocked you over, are you?"

Tim shrugged. "Probably not."

"Is anyone going to let me in on what's going on here?" the redhead interrupted.

"Well, it seems we both made less than good first impressions," Viviana said, ignoring the other boy once again. "Tell you what, I'll go to the trouble of driving all the way out to Wayne manor with a batch of my special homemade cookies and you can give me a tour of the place, during which we can make good second impressions on each other."

"What like a date?" Tim said, hesitantly.

Viviana stared at him a moment before clear, melodic peals of laughter escaped her lips. This boy, despite his widespread wealth and influence, was clearly out of his league when it came to girls. "You're a funny guy, Timothy Drake," she said.

Tim flushed. "I didn't mean—"

"Easy there, lover boy. Sounds like I was right about sweeping you off your feet," Viviana smiled with good humor, holding up both hands in a peaceful gesture. "But I think we should take things slow. We can start by being friendly acquaintances, and then you can start bargaining for friendship. Who knows, maybe we'll be engaged by the time the charity masquerade rolls around."

Tim's brow puckered. "You make it sound like friendship is something that can be bought," he remarked.

Viviana stood, gathering up her shopping bags. "Trust me, Timothy Drake, my friendship is priceless," she said smoothly. "See you Saturday."

Both boys gazed after Viviana in the wake of her enigmatic exit. Tim felt very much the same way he had after the girl had crashed into him, berated him, and stomped on him, only less offended. A heavy sigh across the table suddenly reminded him of Roy's existence.

"Dude, I think I'm in love," Roy sighed.

Tim flicked his straw at the redhead in response.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"For being an idiot." A sensation of déjà vu crept over Tim as he uttered the words.

"Tim my man, you have got to get me onto that guest list."

"Forget it."

/

Viviana found herself in the same position she'd been in that morning, sitting on the bed and studying the Wayne manor schematics. Shopping bags lay strewn about on the maroon carpet. She hadn't seen the cat since she returned later that afternoon or heard a single ratty squeak, to which she said good riddance.

The schematics were once again proving to be of little help in formulating a plan for the night of the charity masquerade. However, Viviana gave herself a mental pat on the back for finding a way into the manor before the 31st while simultaneously rescuing her social reputation from going down in flames. All in a day's work for an international thief.

_Miaow._

Viviana cursed inwardly as she turned to look into the topaz yellow eyes of the diminutive intruder. She hadn't been lying when she told Robin that she wasn't a cat person, and after the Thomas Blake fiasco the sight of furry felines were starting to make her feel especially jumpy. She momentarily wondered whether the cult leader truly believed she was dead, but she shook it off just as quickly.

"No point in coming back, you know. There's no food for you here."

She then noticed something lying on the floor before the cat. It was small, dark, and lumpy…

"Oh gross!" Viviana yelped, recoiling as she realized what it was.

On one hand, it confirmed her suspicions about the rat infestation. On the other hand, it was dead and in her room.

"Ew, this is not happening," Viviana moaned in revulsion. She pointed an accusing finger at the cat, which was looking rather pleased with itself. "_You._ I knew you were trouble. Get that thing out of here!"

The cat merely blinked and yawned at her before disappearing under the bed, presumably to take a nap to reward itself for a successful hunt. Viviana's peace of mind had been irrevocably shattered by the rat in her expensive luxury suite. She eyed the dead lump for a long minute before edging her way to the room phone, keeping as much distance as physically possible between herself and the rat.

"This is suite #349. I'm calling to inform you about a rodent infestation that I recommend you act upon immediately…starting with my room."

Viviana was beginning to experience some serious misgivings about her return to Gotham.


End file.
